


The Sacking of Severus Snape

by marylou



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Snarky Severus Snape, slightly clueless harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-12 12:32:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9071839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marylou/pseuds/marylou
Summary: Severus Snape definitely deserved a vacation





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Parts of this are quoted from The Deathly Hallows.

Harry, Luna, and Professor McGonagall had descended two more floors when another set of quiet footsteps joined theirs. Harry, whose scar was still prickling, heard them first. He felt in the pouch around his neck for the Marauder’s Map, but before he could take it out, McGonagall too seemed to become aware of their company. She halted, raised her wand ready to duel, and said, “Who’s there?”

“It is I,” said a low voice.

From behind a suit of armor stepped Severus Snape.

Hatred boiled up in Harry at the sight of him. He had forgotten the details of Snape’s appearance in the magnitude of his crime, forgotten how his greasy black hair hung in curtains around his thin face, how his black eyes had a dead, cold look. He was not wearing nightclothes, but was dressed in his usual black cloak, and he too was holding his wand ready for a fight.

“Where are the Carrows?” he asked quietly

“Wherever you told them to be, I expect, Severus,” said Professor McGonagall.

Snape stepped nearer, and his eyes flitted over Professor McGonagall into the air around her, as if he knew that Harry was there. Harry held his wand up too, ready to attack, still hidden beneath his cloak.

“I was under the impression,” said Snape, “that Alecto had apprehended an intruder.”

“Really?” said Professor McGonagall. “And what gave you that impression?”

Snape made a slight flexing movement of his left arm, where the dark mark was branded into his skin.

“Oh, but naturally,” said Professor McGonagall. “You death eaters have your own private means of communication, I forgot. You know, I remember a time when you had honor,” she said bitingly. “Whatever happened, Severus?”

Snape pretended not to have heard her. His eyes were still probing the air all about her, and he was moving gradually closer, with an air of hardly noticing what he was doing.

“I did not know it was your night to patrol the corridors, Minerva.”

“You have some objection? I would think that you would appreciate my wariness. After all, you never know when someone dangerous could enter the school.” She glared at him pointedly.

“I wonder what could have brought you out of your bed at this late hour?”

“I thought I heard a disturbance,” said Professor McGonagall.

“Really? But all seems calm.”

Snape tilted his head slightly, looking into her eyes.

“Have you seen Harry Potter, Minerva? Because if you have, I must insist-”

Professor McGonagall moved faster than Harry could have believed. Her wand slashed through the air and for a split second Harry thought that Snape must crumple, unconscious, but the swiftness of his shield charm was such that McGonagall was thrown of balance. She brandished her wand at a torch on the wall and it flew out of its bracket. Harry, about to curse Snape, was forced to pull Luna out of the way of the descending flames, which became a ring of fire that filled the corridor and flew like a lasso at Snape, and then it was no longer fire, but a great black serpent that McGonagall blasted to smoke, which re-formed and solidified in seconds to become a swarm of pursuing daggers. Snape avoided them only by forcing the suit of armor in front of him, and with echoing clangs the daggers sank, one after another, into its breast.

“Minerva!” shouted a squeaky voice, and looking behind him, still shielding Luna from flying spells, Harry saw Professors Flitwick and Sprout sprinting up the corridor toward them in their nightclothes, with the enormous Professor Slughorn panting along at the rear.

“No!” squealed Flitwick, raising his wand. “You’ll do no more murder at Hogwarts!” 

Snape sneered at him, flinging them back down the corridor with his wand and raising a stone wall a few seconds later, blocking them off. In the brief moment before they were cut off completely, Harry could see Sprout’s agonized expression.

“You-” gasped Professor McGonagall. “How did you do that?”

“I am the headmaster. The castle obeys me,” Snape sneered at her. 

Her face whitened in shock and she brandished her wand at the dagger ridden suit of armor, flinging it at Snape. He flung himself to the side, dodging it, jumping almost on top of Harry and Luna. Harry grabbed Luna by the shoulders and tried to pull her out of the way, but was unsuccessful. Harry could feel Luna give a short gasp as Snape fell into them. Snape quickly reached out and grabbed at them, managing to get ahold of Luna’s arm and pulling her away from Harry and out from underneath the cloak.

Harry pulled the cloak off as Snape held his wand to Luna’s trembling neck, his hand clutching her shoulder. “Now, Potter, unless you want your friend here to meet a nasty end, you’ll give me your wand. You too, Minerva.”

They hesitated, glancing at each other. Snape narrowed his eyes, tightening his grip on the wand to Luna’s throat. “Now,” he growled.

Harry sighed and held out his wand, resigning himself to his fate. Snape kept his wand to Luna’s throat and reached out with his other hand for Harry’s wand, shifting slightly to keep Luna in front of him while he moved. “Now yours, Minerva.” She handed hers over silently. With their wands in his free hand, Snape tied Professor McGonagall up with a swift incarcerous and stunned Luna, letting her fall to the floor. Seeing Luna freed, Harry began backing toward the door. “Not so fast, Potter,” Snape growled, snapping out a quick “Petrificus totalus.” Harry’s body grew rigid and he fell back to lean against the wall. With all of his assailants incapacitated, Snape took a moment to rest, leaning against the wall. Harry watched with baited breath, waiting for him to slide his sleeve up and touch the dark mark, alerting Voldemort to his capture.

“Severus,” Professor McGonagall said, almost pleading. “Don’t do this. You know Lily would-”

“Don’t.” Snape warned, silencing her. “Don’t mention her to me.” He straightened, reaching into his robe pocket and drew out a vial filled with a dark red liquid. “What’s that?” Harry asked nervously.

“That, Potter, is your aunt’s blood.”

“What did you to do her?” Harry demanded.

Snape rolled his eyes. “Calm yourself, Potter. She is still alive. Unfortunately” He opened the vial and dipped one long, sallow finger into it, drawing it out again coated red. He walked over to Harry and reached out, carefully drawing his finger along his scar, completely covering it with the blood. “What’s that for? What are you doing?” 

Snape sneered. “Quiet, Potter.” He recorked the vial, returning it to his pocket and drawing his wand. Harry mentally flinched away in fear. 

Snape reached out and traced over Harry’s scar carefully. “Tollere partem tenebrarum” he hissed. He carefully drew his wand away from Harry’s forehead, a dark strand of something attached to the end. Harry gave a sudden moan of pain, wincing. It felt as if his head were being cracked open and his brain sucked out through a straw. “What- stop, please stop, what are you doing?” 

“Shut up, Potter,” Snape hissed again. He wrenched his wand away suddenly, the darkness pooling at his feet. Snape released the full-body bind on Harry, and he stumbled to the ground, his hand reaching up to touch his forehead. The pain was suddenly gone. He frowned. There was something else that was missing. What was it? 

He came to a sudden realization and gasped. “It’s gone! Voldemort’s gone! I can’t feel him anymore! What did you do?”

Snape glared at him. “I-” he began to speak but was interrupted by a hissing from the mound of darkness on the ground. “Potter, get behind me!” Snape reached out and pulled Harry to his feet and shoved the boy behind him, holding his wand up ready. 

“Severusss,” the darkness hissed. Slowly, an image formed in the darkness of Voldemort, a bit younger and more human looking. “Severus, you have betrayed me!” Snape slowly started backing away, pulling Harry with him. “And what did you do it for?” the image of Voldemort hissed. “Nothing but a mudblood and her brat! I will destroy you!” 

Snape sneered. “I’d like to see you try, Riddle. You are nothing, and it is time for you to realize that.” He brandished his wand with an ugly look on his face. “Avada kedavra.”

There was a long piercing scream. The image of Riddle warped and dissolved into the pool of darkness on the stone floor, writhing and twisting around as the flames consumed it until only ash was left.

Snape collapsed on the ground, resting his head in his hands. Harry looked at him awkwardly. “Um, what just happened?”

Snape looked up at him with a tired look on his face. “On the night the Dark Lord tried to kill you, when Li- when your mother cast her own life in front of you as a shield, the killing curse rebounded upon him, and a fragment of his soul was torn apart from the whole and latched itself onto you- the only living soul left in that collapsed building. As long as that fragment of soul still resided inside you, protected, the Dark Lord could not be killed.”

“I was the seventh?” Harry muttered. His hand reached up to touch the scar. He looked deeply disturbed. “That explains the parseltongue, and- and the dreams, but . . . how much has he influenced me? I mean, he’s been part of me for my entire life! How do I know that who I am is actually me and not him? Am I more like him than I thought?”

“Potter!” Snape snapped. “Calm down! Quit trying to make yourself the object of pity again!”

“What!” Harry protested. “When have I ever-”

Snape sneered at him. “I assure you, Potter, the Dark Lord has had little control over your life.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because there is no way that he would have been able to imitate your arrogance and Gryffindor stupidity so perfectly.”

Harry stared at him. “Thanks for the reassurance, I think. So now there’s only two left, the snake and Ravenclaw’s item, right?” Harry asked, changing the topic and getting back to the pertinent topic of the horcruxes.

“Right,” Snape nodded. There was a sudden thumping sound, and they both looked over at Professor McGonagall, who was thumping her foot impatiently against the floor. Snape pointed his wand at her and removed the ropes binding her and unsilenced her. 

She watched him carefully. “So, it was all just a lie?” she asked hesitantly, getting to her feet.

Snape furrowed his brow. “It depends on what you are referring to.”

“You- you were a death eater, you killed Albus. How could you-”

“He asked me to. He was already dying,” Snape said calmly. “With the curse in his hand, he only had a few more months to live. And this way, my loyalty to the Dark Lord was solidified.”

“So, it was all an act?” she asked.

He nodded. “For the most part, yes.”

She flushed red. 

“What?”

“We tried to kill you.”

He sneered. “Emphasis on ‘try.’ All of your attempts were half-hearted. Really, Minerva, I’m a Potions Master, it’s pointless to try and poison me.”

“But why?” Harry burst out, not able to hold it in any longer. “Why would you go that just far to spy on Vold-”

“Potter, no! Don’t say his name!” Snape hissed. 

“You-Know-Who, then. Why do you even care?”

“That, Potter, is none of your business.”

“Really?” Professor McGonagall murmured. “I would have thought that-”

“Stay out of this, Minerva! We have more important matters at hand, like defeating the Dark Lord once and for all. Now, I think it best for all of us if we pretend that Minerva and the others managed to drive me off so I can return to the Dark Lord. Potter, concentrate on finding that horcrux.”

Professor McGonagall’s eyes narrowed. “And what about myself, headmaster? What are your orders for me?”

“Defend the castle. And stay out of the way.” He shoved their confiscated wands into Harry’s hand and turned, his robes flaring behind him as he stalked towards the window and jumped out. Harry and Professor McGonagall rushed over to the window to see a huge, batlike shape flying through the darkness toward the perimeter wall.

A bit later, after the Order and Dumbledore’s army had arrived and Hufflepuff’s Cup and Ravenclaw’s diadem had both been destroyed, after Fred- after all that had happened, Harry stood together with Ron and Hermione in a still corridor of the castle.

Hermione was crying. She wiped her face on her torn and singed sleeve as she spoke, but she took great heaving breaths to calm herself as she turned to Harry.

“You need to find out where Voldemort is, because he’ll have the snake with him, won’t he? Do it, Harry- look inside him!”

Harry winced. “Hermione, I can’t see inside him anymore. The connection- something happened. The connection’s not there anymore.”

“Well then, check the map!”

Harry pulled it out hesitantly. “Hermione, I don’t think he’ll show up on it. He’d have to be in the castle to-”

“There!” Hermione jabbed a finger at the map. “Malfoy’s coming back through the tunnel from the Shrieking Shack! That must be where he is!” She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “Right, then,” she said determinedly. “Let’s go.”

“No,” Harry said firmly, folding the map. “No, you two stay here, it’s me that he wants, I- I’ll go.”

Ron snorted. “Mate, if you don’t get moving, we’re going to get there before you.”

. . . . .

Harry wriggled into the earthy passage hidden in the tree’s roots. It was a much tighter squeeze than it had been the last time they had entered it, now there was nothing for it but to crawl. Harry went first, his wand illuminated, expecting at any moment to meet barriers, but none came. They moved in silence, Harry’s gaze fixed upon the swinging beam of the wand held in his fist. 

At last the tunnel began to slope upward and Harry saw a sliver of light ahead. Hermione tugged at his ankle.

“The cloak!” she whispered. “Put the cloak on!”

He groped behind him and she forced the bundle of slippery cloth into his free hand. With difficulty he dragged it over himself, murmured, “Nox,” extinguishing his wandlight, and continued on his hands and knees, as silently as possible, all his senses straining, expecting every second to be discovered, to hear a cold clear voice, see a flash of green light.

And then he heard voices coming from the room directly ahead of them, only slightly muffled by the fact that the opening at the end of the tunnel had been blocked by what looked like an old crate. Hardly daring to breathe, Harry edged right up to the opening and peered through a tiny gap left between crate and wall. 

The room beyond was dimly lit, but he could see Nagini, swirling and coiling like a serpent underwater, safe in her enchanted, starry sphere, which floated unsupported in mid air. He could see the edge of a table, and a long-fingered white hand toying with a wand. Then Snape spoke, and Harry’s heart lurched. Snape was inches away from where he crouched, hidden. He could hear Snape and Voldemort talking, and he listened with apprehension and confusion to their conversation.

They talked for a few minutes about wands, and Dumbledore, and Harry was beginning to feel worried when he heard Snape protesting what Voldemort had just said. 

“It cannot be any other way,” said Voldemort. “I must master the wand, Severus. Master the wand, and I master Potter at last.”

And Voldemort swiped the air with the Elder Wand. It did nothing to Snape, who for a split second seemed to think he had been reprieved. But then Voldemort’s intention became clear. The snake’s cage cracked open and the snake was flying through the air, writhing and hissing angrily, and before Snape could do anything more than yell, it was upon him, wrapped around his neck. He reached up, futilely trying to dislodge the snake around his throat. Voldemort spoke in Parseltongue.

“Kill.”

“NO!” Harry cried, shoving the crate out of the way and jumping into the room. “Sectumsempra!” he cried, brandishing his wand at Nagini. His curse completely severed the snake’s head, and it fell to the floor with a wet-sounding thud as the rest of the snake’s body unwound itself from around Snape’s neck. He gasped in a breath. Voldemort hissed in surprise and turned to face Harry, just starting to bring his wand up before Snape cast a shield charm between them, holding it steady. He grabbed Harry by the arm and began to pull him away. “No! I have to kill him! Let me go!”

“Potter,” Snape growled. “Now is not the time. We need to get back to the castle.”

“So,” Voldemort hissed. “You are a traitor, Severus. And Dumbledore?”

Snape smirked. “He was dying anyway.”

Voldemort nodded slowly, his red eyes narrowing. “I will kill you for this,” he hissed. 

“No,” Harry declared, raising his wand threateningly. “I won’t let you.”

Snape silently rolled his eyes.

“You won’t let me?” Voldemort said softly. “Oh, but you see Harry, there is little that you can do to stop me. I will kill Severus, just as I will kill you.” He smirked, raising his wand. Snape stepped between the two of them, keeping his shield up with his wand while he slashed Voldemort viciously with a wandless spell, opening up a wound running diagonally across Voldemort’s chest. He staggered back in surprise, staring down at the dark red blood dripping down his stomach. 

Ron and Hermione stared in shock. 

“You can not take all of us, Master,” Snape hissed. “Especially with all of your horcruxes gone.”

Voldemort glared at him before silently apparating out of the shack.

“What!” Ron gasped. “What just happened?” 

“I would think that is clear, Weasley. I just told the Dark Lord where my true loyalties are.”

Ron stared at him. “And they are . . . where?”

“Not with the Dark Lord,” Snape rolled his eyes. 

“And we’re supposed to believe you?” Ron said, flabbergasted. “No. No way.”

“Ron,” Hermione said hesitantly. “Maybe we should at least listen. I mean, every time that we thought he was trying to kill Harry, we were wrong. So maybe-”

“No!” Ron said again. “No! How can you even suggest that, Hermione! He killed Dumbledore! And he nearly killed George!”

“Dumbledore was dying anyway,” Harry said hollowly.

“But-”

“I was not aiming for your brother, Weasley,” Snape said quietly. “I was aiming for another death eater, but he got in the way. Lupin owes his life to me.”

Ron just stared at him, until suddenly a high, cold voice spoke so close to them that Harry jumped slightly, his wand gripped tightly in his hands, thinking that Voldemort had reentered the room.

“You have fought,” said the high, cold voice, “valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste. Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured.

“I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then the battle shall recommence. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour.”

“That’s it then,” Harry said quietly. 

“No,” Hermione said flatly. “No, Harry, don’t listen to him. You know he’s just trying to get you angry.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “We’ll keep fighting. And we’re never going to give up!”

Snape snorted disdainfully. “That’s such an appallingly Gryffindor statement.”

Ron glared at him. “Do you have a better idea?”

“As a matter of fact, Weasley, yes I do. I know it’s a novel idea for Potter, but you could actually make a plan other than blindly running in and being killed.”

“He’s right,” Hermione said, beginning to pace. “We need a plan.”

“Potter could go surrender to the Dark Lord while we follow invisibly. And then after he has killed Potter, we could ambush him.”

“Yes!” Hermione agreed. “Well, other than the part about Harry dying.”

“But that was my favorite part of the plan,” Snape whined.

“Blimey,” Ron muttered. “That is smart.” Snape smirked at him. “Do you play chess?” Ron asked him.

. . . . .

A swarm of dementors was gliding amongst the trees; he could feel their chill, and he was not sure he would be able to pass safely through it. He had not the strength for a patronus. He heard a quiet murmur beside him and saw a silvery doe burst into being beside him. He smiled, his hand moving up to clutch at the pouch around his neck. He frowned. 

The snitch. His nerveless fingers fumbled for a moment with the pouch at his neck and he pulled it out.

I open at the close.

He stared down at the glimmer of gold in his hand. “No,” he murmured. He pressed the golden metal to his lips and whispered, “I will not die today.” 

The metal shell broke open. He lowered his shaking hand, raised Draco’s wand beneath the cloak, and whispered, “Lumos.”

He frowned, confused. There was nothing but glittery, black sand filling the empty shell. He tilted the snitch, letting the dust trickle to the ground. It flashed in the air as it fell before disappearing into the grass. 

He felt a warm hand on his shoulder and took a deep breath as he moved toward Voldemort.

He paused in his steps when there was a thud and a whisper. Some other living creature had stirred close by. Harry stopped under the cloak, peering around, listening, his silent protectors stopping too.

“Someone there,” came a rough whisper close at hand. “He’s got an invisibility cloak. Could it be-”

Two figures emerged from behind a nearby tree. Their wands flared, and Harry saw Yaxley and Dolohov peering into the darkness.

“Definitely heard something,” said Yaxley, glancing down at his watch. “Time’s nearly up. Potter’s had his hour. He’s not coming.”

“And he was sure he’d come! He won’t be happy.”

“Better get back,” said Yaxley. “Find out what the plan is now.”

He and Dolohov turned and walked deeper into the forest. Harry and his companion followed them, knowing that they would lead them exactly where they wanted to go.

A fire burned in the middle of Aragog’s clearing, and its flickering light fell over a crowd of completely silent, watchful death eaters. Fenrir, skulking, chewing his long nails; Bellatrix, disheveled and slightly bloody but still watching Voldemort with a worshipful fascination; Lucius Malfoy, looking defeated and terrified; Narcissa Malfoy, her eyes sunken and full of apprehension.

Every eye was fixed upon Voldemort, who stood with his head bowed and his pale, long hands folded over his wand. He looked to Harry almost as if he were praying, or perhaps counting silently in his head, like a child in a game of hide-and-seek.

The Dark Lord looked up as Dolohov and Yaxley rejoined the circle. 

“No sign of him, my Lord.”

Voldemort’s expression did not change. The red eyes seemed to burn in the firelight. Slowly he drew his wand between his long fingers.

“I thought he would come,” he said in his high, clear voice, his eyes on the leaping flames. “I was, it seems . . . mistaken.”

“You weren’t.”

Harry said it as loudly as he could, with all the force he could muster. He did not want to sound afraid as he stepped into the firelight.

Voldemort had frozen where he stood, but his red eyes had found Harry, and he stared as Harry moved toward him, with nothing but the fire between them.

Then a voice yelled out “HARRY! NO!” 

He turned. Hagrid was bound and trussed, tied to a tree nearby. His massive body shook the branches overhead as he struggled, desperate.

“NO! NO! HARRY, WHAT’RE YEH-”

“QUIET!” shouted Yaxley, and with a flick of his wand Hagrid was silenced.

The only thing that moved was the fire, coiling and uncoiling, sending flickers of light dancing around the circle.

Harry could feel his wand hidden in his sleeve, but he made no attempt to draw it yet. And still, Voldemort and Harry looked at each other, and now Voldemort tilted his head a little to the side, considering the boy standing before him, and a singularly mirthless smile curled the lipless mouth.

“Harry Potter,” he said very softly. His voice might have been part of the spitting fire. “The Boy Who Lived.”

They stood together like that, neither one moving. Just waiting. Everyone was waiting. Voldemort raised his wand, and Harry felt a sudden pang of fear. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to happen. 

Just as Voldemort opened his mouth to cast the killing curse at Harry for the last time, he suddenly made a sort of gasping noise. Harry watched as the silver tip of Godric Gryffindor’s sword poked out of the front of his chest. Behind Voldemort, Snape shimmered into sight, a dark smirk on his face as he let go of the disillusionment charm. Voldemort gasped again, falling to his knees as his wand slid through his fingers. “How?” he gasped. “Impossible. You can’t-” He looked at Harry, his fingers grasping spider-like at his wand. Harry stepped on it with a crunch, snapping it in half. “No!” Voldemort gasped again, before something finally left his eyes, leaving them fixed, blank, and empty. The hand reaching out for the wand thudded to the floor, and Lord Voldemort was no more.

The circle of death eaters was silent, until a there was a muttered “Avada kedavra” from behind Harry. He whirled around, his wand raised in a futile attempt to defend himself before he saw what was going on and paused in shock. Bellatrix Lestrange was crumpling to the ground, her sister standing over her with a cold look on her face. “You should never have tortured my son,” she hissed viciously before turning on Yaxley. Harry joined her in her attack. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Snape attacking Greyback, Ron and Hermione fighting Rowle, and Lucius Malfoy bringing down Yaxley. The next few minutes that passed were a blur to Harry, ducking curses and right and left and retaliating. Eventually, he realized that there were no more curses flying at him and lowered his wand, looking around. Bodies were strewn around the glade. None of them were moving, and Harry didn’t really want to know which ones were just stunned and which were dead. Ron was slumped on the ground, leaning against Hermione’s legs while she cleaned a cut on his head. The Malfoys were standing awkwardly to the side as if they didn’t know what to do.

“Wow,” Hagrid gasped, still tied to the tree. Either none of the curses had hit him, or his giant blood had protected him. “What jus’ happened?”

“He’s dead,” Harry muttered, still shocked. “But . . . the prophecy . . . it was supposed to be me. How is this even possible?”

“Use what little intelligence you have, Potter,” Snape snapped. “Neither can live while the other survives. It refers to the horcrux in your scar.”

“Oh,” Harry said sheepishly. “So you mean I didn’t have to be the one to- to kill him? That anyone could do it?”

Snape nodded grimly. “And there is the danger in trying to interpret prophecies. You will inevitably interpret wrong.”

Harry nodded. He looked around the grove. “So, what now?”

Snape shrugged. “I don’t care what you do, Potter. Do whatever you want. But I am leaving. It’s about time I had a vacation. I did my part. I did more than my part. Don’t contact me. I don’t intend on being back anytime soon.” He turned and strode off through the trees. He never looked back.

“Um,” Ron said hesitantly behind Harry. Harry turned to face him. He was leaning against Hermione weakly while Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy still stood uncertainly to the side. “Do you think we should go tell everyone that he’s dead?” he gestured at Voldemort’s body. “I mean, they’re probably still waiting for him to attack.”

Harry looked wearily around the blood-stained glade. “Yeah. Sure.”


	2. Chapter 2

They walked back to the castle together, Ron and Hermione holding hands while Harry was the awkward third wheel. Harry had his wand out and was levitating Voldemort’s body in front of them. They paused in front of the open front doors of the school. Harry could see the light streaming from the open door. “Hello?” he called out. “Anybody there? Voldemort’s dead, so . . . yeah. Time to party?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Smooth, Harry.”

“What?” he protested. “What else was I supposed to say?”

There was a sudden noise from the open doors. Harry squinted again and saw the open doorway filling with people, as the survivors of the battle came out onto the front steps to face their saviors and see the truth of Voldemort’s death for themselves. McGonagall stepped forward. “Potter?” she asked uncertainly. “Prove that you’re really Harry.”

He hesitated before raising his wand and casting his patronus, watching Prongs dance around in front of him before swiping a hand through it. She relaxed. “It’s really him,” she said to the others around her. The crowd breathed a sigh of relief. “And the death eaters?” someone shouted out.

“Either dead or incapacitated,” Harry responded.

“But I wanted to kill Bellatrix,” someone muttered from the middle of the crowd. Harry blinked in surprise. “Was that . . . Neville?” he asked Hermione quietly. She shrugged. “It sure sounded like him,” she responded. 

There was a moment of silence, one shivering second of silence, the shock of the moment suspended, and then the tumult broke around Harry as the screams and the cheers and the roars of the watchers rent the air. The fierce new sun dazzled the windows as they thundered toward him, and Hermione hurriedly wove a protective spell around the shell of Voldemort’s body before the mob reached them, and Harry could sense the Malfoys drawing away from them, moving almost silently through the crowd. Then Ginny, Neville, and Luna were there, and then the Weasleys, and Hagrid, and Kingsley and McGonagall and Flitwick and Sprout, and Harry could not hear a word that anyone was shouting, nor tell whose hands were seizing him, pulling him, trying to hug some part of him, hundreds of them pressing in, all of them determined to touch the Boy-Who-Lived. 

They moved Voldemort’s body and laid it in a chamber off the Hall, away from the bodies of Fred, Tonks, Remus, Colin, and fifty others who had died fighting him. McGonagall had replaced the house tables, but nobody was sitting according to house anymore. All were jumbled together, teachers and pupils, ghosts and parents. After a while, exhausted and drained, Harry found himself sitting on a bench beside Luna.

“I’d want some peace and quiet, if it were me,” she said.

“I’d love some,” he replied.

“I’ll distract them all,” she said. “Use your cloak.”

And before he could say a word she had cried, “Oooh, look, a blibbering humdinger!” and pointed out of the window. Everyone who heard turned and looked around, and Harry took the chance she had given him and slid the cloak up over himself, and got to his feet.

Now he could move through the hall without interference, He spotted Ginny two tables away; she was sitting with her head on her mother’s shoulder. There would be time to talk later, hours and days and maybe years in which to talk, but right now he wanted to talk to the two sitting next to her, along with the rest of the Weasleys.

He pulled the cloak off and sat down next to Hermione. “Hey.”

She reached out and pulled him into a hug. “There you are, Harry. Where have you been?”

He shrugged. “Around.”

“Harry?” she asked suddenly. “Where did the Malfoys go?”

He looked up. “I don’t know. They were with us when we came back to the castle, but I don’t remember seeing them after that. You don’t think that they’re going to try and raise Voldemort again, do you?” he asked, concerned.

Bill spoke up. “They’re gone.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.

“I mean they’ve left England. I heard them talking about it.”

Harry nodded slowly. “That’s probably for the best.”

He glanced over at Ginny and smiled wanly. She waved him over, so he slid around the table to sit next to her. 

“Uh . . . Hey,” he said awkwardly.

Ginny just rolled her eyes and wrapped an arm around him, pulling him in for a long hug. “Hey to you too,” she muttered. Harry let himself relax into her warmth. He felt safe.

. . . . .

A few hours later, after the house elves had served a hasty meal and the clean up had started, Kingsley pulled Harry aside. “Can I talk to you?” he said quietly.

He nodded. “Sure, Kingsley. What’s the problem?”

“We’ve taken all the death eaters that we could find into custody, but we haven’t been able able to locate Snape. Do you know anything about that?”

Harry nodded slowly. “I do, yes. He left.”

Kingsley raised an eyebrow. “He left? And you let him?”

Harry nodded again. “He was on our side. So we let him.”

“On our side?” he repeated, his brow furrowed. “He killed Dumbledore!”

“Not really. I mean, he did kill him, but he didn’t really mean it.”

“He didn’t mean it.” 

“Why do you keep repeating what I’m saying? No, he didn’t mean it. Dumbledore was dying from the curse in his hand, so they planned it out so Snape could keep his place in Voldemort’s inner circle.”

“Are you sure about this, Potter?”

“Yes, I’m sure. And McGonagall was there, she can back me up.”

Kingsley nodded slowly. “I’ll take your word about this for right now, but eventually you will have to testify in court about this,” he warned.

“Yeah, I understand.”

“Good,” Kingsley nodded, clapping Harry on the shoulder. “Good work, Potter. You ever thought about being an auror?”

Harry shrugged. “I used to, but right now, I don’t know. I’ve spent my entire life running into dangerous situations, I don’t know if I want to make a career out of it.”

“Just keep it in mind.”

“I will,” Harry nodded.

A week or two later, Harry stood in the great hall of the castle. He looked around, taking in the repairs that had already started. He heard someone else come in and turned to face them.

“Harry!” McGonagall beamed. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” he said, smiling weakly. “Is- I wanted to- can I speak with Dumbledore? I mean with his portrait? Please?”

Her gaze softened. “I think that we can manage that. The password is victory. I’m sure you remember the way.”

He swallowed. “Right. Thank you.”

Since he had last seen it, the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the headmaster’s study had been knocked aside. Someone had lifted it back upright, but it still stood lopsided, looking a little punch-drunk, and Harry wondered whether it would be able to distinguish passwords anymore.

“Victory?” he said hesitantly.

“Yeah, yeah, go on in,” groaned the statue.

Harry moved onto the spiral stone staircase that moved slowly upward like an escalator. He pushed open the door at the top.

He had one, brief glimpse of the bare desk and the chair beyond it, and then an earsplitting noise made him cry out, thinking of curses and returning death eaters and the rebirth of Voldemort-

But it was applause. All around the walls, the headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts were giving him a standing ovation; they waved their hats and in some cases their wigs, they reached through their frames to grip each other’s hands, they danced up and down on the chairs in which they had been painted. Dilys Derwent sobbed unashamedly. Dexter Fortescue was waving his ear-trumped, and Phineas Nigellus called, in his high reedy voice, “And let it be noted that Slytherin house played its part! Let our contribution not be forgotten!”

But Harry had eyes only for the man who stood in the largest portrait directly behind the headmaster’s chair. Tears were sliding down from behind the half-moon spectacles and into the long silver beard, and the pride and gratitude emanating from him filled Harry with the same balm as phoenix song.

At last, Harry cleared his throat awkwardly, and the portraits fell respectfully silent, beaming and mopping their eyes and waiting eagerly for him to speak. He directed his words at Dumbledore, however, and chose them with enormous care. 

”The thing that was hidden in the snitch,” he began, “I dropped it in the forest. I don’t know exactly where, but I’m not going to go looking for it again.”

“A wise and courageous decision, but no less than I expected of you. Does anyone else know where it fell?” Dumbledore asked, while his fellow pictures looked confused and curious.

“No one,” said Harry, and Dumbledore nodded in satisfaction.

“I’m going to keep Ignotus’s present, though,” said Harry, and Dumbledore beamed. 

“But of course, Harry it is yours forever, until you pass it on!”

“And the wand, your wand that Voldemort took,” Harry paused uncertainly. “It’s broken.”

“What!”

He nodded. “I stepped on it. Snapped it completely in half. In the Forbidden Forest, after Voldemort was killed.”

“That should have been impossible,” Dumbledore breathed. “How?”

Harry just shrugged. “Magic. And it’s probably a good thing, anyway. That wand’s more trouble than it’s worth. And quite honestly, I’ve had enough trouble for a lifetime.”

“And Severus?” Dumbledore asked, concerned. “I know that he was the one to remove the horcrux from your scar; I heard some of the portraits talking, but other than that . . .”

“Yeah, about that,” Harry said, starting to grow a bit angry. “What was the deal with that?”

Dumbledore looked at him over the top of his half-moon spectacles. “I’m afraid that I do not know what you mean, my boy.”

“Did you mean for me to die? Was that all I ever was to you, just a pawn to be sacrificed for the greater good?”

“Oh, Harry, no,” Dumbledore said, his eyes tender. “I tried. Ever since I realized what your connection was, I tried. I spent hours researching and trying to figure something out.” he chuckled. “I even asked the unspeakables. You should have seen the looks they gave me; I’m not sure what they thought I was doing. I looked everywhere that I could, but I couldn’t find anything to remove a soul fragment without also destroying its vessel.”

“But- Snape found a spell-” Harry said haltingly.

Dumbledore nodded. “He did. He found it in Voldemort’s personal library, where _I_ never would have been able to find it.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “So you didn’t- you weren’t raising me to die.”

“Of course not! Where did you get that idea?”

Harry shuffled his feet uncertainly in front of the portrait. “I thought that maybe that was why you sent me to live with the Dursleys.”

Dumbledore froze. “What do you mean?”

“Well, they didn’t really treat me that well. Always told me that I was worthless. And so I thought that maybe you sent me to live with them so that I’d be more willing to die. It was something Malfoy said in my sixth year that made me think of it,” he mumbled the rest.

“Harry, I placed you with your aunt because that was the safest place for you. Did you know that, a few months after Voldemort disappeared, death eaters attacked the homes of the most prominent pureblood families? They were looking for you.”

“What! How do you know they were looking for me? Was anyone hurt?”

“They were questioned as to your whereabouts. And no one was killed.”

“But was anyone hurt?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “That doesn’t matter anymore, Harry. The point is, no one would have guessed that you were raised by your muggle relatives. It really was the safest place for you. I know it was not easy for you there, but it was the best situation we could come up with. I readily admit that I can sometimes be more manipulative than I should be, but I would never do something like that to you. I am truly sorry if I have caused you excess heartache.”

Harry waved a hand at him dismissively. “Eh, it’s fine. It could have been a lot worse, I suppose.” 

“And Severus? Where is he? Is he-” Dumbledore broke off.

Harry made a face. “He said that he was going on vacation.”

“Vacation?” Dumbledore raised a brow.

Harry nodded. 

“And did he say when he was coming back? Or even if he was?”

“He said that he didn’t intend on being back anytime soon.”

Dumbledore nodded slowly. “That’s good. He deserves a break.” His face grew sad. “I fear that the world has never been kind to poor Severus. Such a lost soul . . .” he trailed off.

“Right,” Harry said awkwardly. “Whatever you say.” He stood. “Well, it was nice talking to you,” he said. “I guess I’ll, uh, see you later?”

Dumbledore nodded. “Of course, my boy. I will always be here if you need to talk to me.”

“Right,” Harry said again. “I’ll be sure to remember that.” He turned and left.

Meanwhile, somewhere along the coast of Brazil, a tall, bony man wearing dark swim trunks sat reclining on his hotel balcony, looking out over the lush beach below him. He had pale, sickly looking skin that had been slathered with his own homemade sunscreen, and his lank hair had been pulled back into a tail. He reached out a hand and grabbed the cool drink sitting on the table next to him, taking a deep sip. He set the drink back down again and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. He felt like taking a nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Portions of this were quoted from _The Deathly Hallows_.


End file.
